The bike was packed and I only had to put my gear on in order to
be ready for the first step towards home. I had breakfast with the
guys before taking off on my own and was on the road by 8:30,
getting a good start on what was rumored to be a tightly curved and
poorly maintained road. The rumors were true. I had chosen to take
RT 175 north to Oaxaca, as the other option (RT 131) was supposed to
have large sections of gravel and be in even worse shape then RT
175. And seeing as my main goal was to get home as quickly and
safely as possible, the prospect of riding twisted gravel roads
alone did not appeal to me. I started out enjoying the lush, almost
jungle-like vegetation of the southern side of the mountains. This
would be as close as I would get to "jungle" so I tried to
appreciate the hanging vines, the fat leaves and the intense greens
as I entered the beginning of 150 kilometers of curves. The pavement
did indeed leave much to be desired and I took my time rounding
corners and climbing over passes. This was the single worse paved
road I was on in all of Mexico. There were almost no towns or
villages along this route, although I was still surprised to see the
occasional cluster of buildings perched high on a hillside in
seemingly random and isolated locations. As the road climbed over
mountain passes, the lushness decreased, leaving pine and other
deciduous trees to reign over the slopes. I could see the evidence
of the vast clear cutting that I had heard about in the state of
Oaxaca, the first that I had really noticed so far. With the change
in vegetation came a change in temperature: it had gotten quite a
bit cooler than the 90 degrees I had left on the coast. I had the
pleasure of watching a local woman herd her goats to another
location while I stopped to put on a sweater. After 94 miles of fun,
the road finally crested its last ridge and dropped down into an
expanse of land that stretched off to the distant hills. I was to
pass by more farmland and larger towns during the remaining journey
to Oaxaca. Despite appearing flat, there were actually a number of
ravines and hills in he landscape that kept me on my toes and made
the ride a bit more interesting than straight-lining it for an hour.

I entered Oaxaca not knowing where I was going or what I was
looking for. Until this point, I had been at the mercy of Mark and
James' decisions and route-finding skills. Now I had to take the
reins and find my own way, without aid of GPS or detailed maps. This
was to be interesting, to say the least. I rode around along narrow
one-way streets in the thick traffic trying to find either the main
market or an affordable hotel. I stopped at a couple of hotels, but
was concerned about the high rates, as I was on a tight budget and
no longer had the pleasure of splitting the cost three ways. I
should also mention that until now, both Mark and I had relied
heavily on James for most communication with the locals, as neither
of us spoke much Spanish (I spoke none at all). So now I was on my
own with a vocabulary of about two dozen words and almost no
comprehension of what was said to me. This would make for a truly
interesting return home. Through blind luck, I found exactly what I
had been looking for: a hostel. I would have my own bunk in a room
with another girl and share the common showers for the incredibly
low price of $6. It was one of the most comfortable and quiet
night's sleep I was to experience during my entire time in Mexico.

Oaxaca's market is huge! After I tucked my bike and gear away at
the hostel, I went out on foot and explored the city. It's a large,
well laid-out city and very modern by Mexican standards. I walked
through the main plaza and thought it curious when a man caught a
pigeon with his bare hands and stuffed it into a bag he was
carrying. I'm not sure if I want to know what he planned to do with
it. I discovered the main market quite by accident, as it is
entirely enclosed in a building and not easily detectable from every
other storefront in the city. Within the walls of that building you
can find everything for sale, from handmade blankets and rugs, to
morsels of chocolate, to chicken innards, to hand carved objects
d'art. I eventually managed to find my way out of the market and
back to the hostel. It was chilly that night, but I had two blankets
and soon drifted off to sleep to the happy sounds of quiet
conversations, a guitar strumming softly and slightly off-key
singing.

Day 31 � Oaxaca - Puebla
194 miles

The next morning I was eager to get on the road. I woke up early
and had a hard time waiting for the small breakfast that was
included in my $6 room fee. It was a quick ride out of the city on
RT 190 before turning northward on RT135. This would keep me away
from Mexico City, a place I had no desire to see, let alone ride
through. RT 135 was a good road with consistent cornering and grand
views. The road followed the contours of the ridges closely and I
could see its scarred path for miles ahead of me, cut sharply into
the rocky hillsides. To my surprise there were a number of
bicyclists climbing the same mountain I was descending � apparently
it was a bit of a race, as there were support vehicles and fancy
gear on display. I had to slow down as I passed a couple herding
their cattle up the road ahead of me. I never knew what I'd find
around the next corner. The pine forests had given way to leafless
trees and tall cacti and I soon found myself at the bottom of a long
valley that followed a wide and rich river. Agriculture had once
again become king and the small towns that had sprung up to support
the farms were offering me topes to navigate over. The road
flattened out and I passed through more towns and topes, ever on my
quest for Puebla. I saw a state road crew maintaining the median of
the highway I was on, trimming back the grass using handheld scythes
and sickles. It didn't seem terribly efficient and I once again
marveled at the contrast between Mexico's modern achievements and
the old fashioned methods they still used for various jobs.

I had forgotten about the volcanoes that are near Puebla until I
rounded a bend and was struck by the sudden appearance of a massive,
obviously volcanic mountain. It stuck up into the sky out of
nowhere, tendrils of steam drifting from its peak. I was mesmerized
by it for the rest of the ride into Puebla, at least until I reached
the city. Then I was overcome with the sheer size, congestion and
general dirtiness of the place. I strove to get through Puebla as
quickly as possible but, due to the nature of Mexican signs, I
wasn't sure what direction that should be. I guessed and apparently
guessed correctly, for I was soon approaching the outer limits of
the city. This led to another quandary: just how far could I ride
before I ran out of hotel options? The towns listed on my map were
never guaranteed to have a gas station let alone a hotel and it was
getting very cold at night. I wanted to make sure that I had
somewhere warm to sleep, so I stopped at the next hotel I found. It
was an odd setup in that I passed under an archway and was
immediately presented with dozens of garage doors around a circular
drive. In the middle of all of this is the "reception desk", where I
paid for my room. They opened one of the garage doors, I pulled in
my bike (dropping it on the slick tile floor when I hit the brakes
too hard) and from within the security of my garage I then entered
my hotel room. My room was very nicely appointed with a large bed, a
clean and updated bath area and a TV with a remote control (the
first one I had seen so far in Mexico). I thought that I had hit the
jackpot. I pulled out my camp stove to heat up water so that I could
make oatmeal for dinner (an advantage of having an attached garage
to your hotel room) and then checked out the hot water situation.
Nope, not hot. I skipped the shower that evening and crawled into
bed to be entertained by Mexican TV. To my chagrin the remote did
not work and to make matters worse, the room was freezing cold.
There are no heaters in Mexican hotels except for the ones way up in
the mountains. I asked the hotel for a second blanket, set the TV to
a decent music station and curled up under the covers with my book.
It was a very, very cold night.

Day 32 � Puebla � Queretaro
238 miles

The next morning, I geared up wearing every layer I could get my
hands on. I repacked the bike and, despite the coldness outside (as
compared to the coldness inside the room), was very glad to be
heading away from Puebla that morning. I had difficulty finding
route 136 (as I mentioned, most Mexican towns are very poorly
marked) but the local Pemex gas station once again came through with
their helpful and friendly service. I was soon heading north towards
Pachuca with my final destination for the day to be Queretaro. On
the map it looked like a fairly easy route so I was surprised when I
found that I was lost. Not entirely lost, just no longer on the road
I thought I was on. The road had started out newly paved and fast
with a lot of semi caravans. A cold, low cloud cover prevented the
sun from warming up the land or burning off the fog in the valleys.
I stopped at a truck stop in an effort to warm up my innards and was
pleased to find that they offered hot chocolate as well as toast and
eggs. "Toast" of course, not being anything like what I would find
in the States. No, when you order "toast" in Mexico you get a slice
of white bread that has indeed been toasted, but then left cold,
unbuttered and without jam or jelly. It wasn't the most satisfying
breakfast I've ever had, but it did the job of warming me up. The
towns I passed through were larger than I was used to seeing and
there was little untilled land after leaving Puebla. I did notice a
huge increase in dead dogs by the side of the road. I will liken the
dog in Mexico to the deer in Pennsylvania: after a certain point
you've seen so many of them that you start to forget that they were
once living creatures. This was brought home to me as I was running
across a fairly flat and open section of road and saw two groups of
people on both sides of the road before me. I slowed down as I
approached them and was surprised when a small dog ran out on a
direct path to my front tire. I braked hard enough to slow down and
swerved away from the dog just as he realized that this was a bad
idea and tried to stop. I continued past the dog and checked my
mirrors to see if he was ok. I looked back just in time to see the
dog bounce off the bumper of the pickup truck behind me. I cringed
and shook my head. The truck didn't slow down. In fact, it sped up
and passed me.

It was shortly after this that I found myself not where I thought
I was. I had just passed the town of Apan and was heading north when
my inner compass informed me that this was "not right." I ignored it
for a couple more miles, but felt that it was better to check things
out now before I got too far in what might be the wrong direction. I
had passed a Police truck with three policemen standing around and
considered asking them, but decided to ask someone else instead.
There had been a "Y" in the road and I went back to that point. I
had originally chosen the right leg and the people I asked (from
what I could understand) were telling me that the right leg was
correct. I thanked them and went back to my original route. It still
felt very wrong, so this time I stopped by the policemen and asked
them the same question: Donde esta Pachuca?
They got a huge
kick out of the fact that this single American girl on a motorcycle
who couldn't speak a lick of Spanish was asking for directions.
Well, they tried to explain to me where I should be going but there
were way too many words that I didn't understand. Wasn't it
painfully obvious in my original question that my knowledge of
Spanish was limited and that I wouldn't understand their rapid
responses? Then the driver got a big grin on his face and indicated
that I should follow them. They all jumped into the truck, turned on
the lights and escorted me back to town. Mid-way through town, my
escort stopped across the street from another police truck and they
began to converse. They gestured frequently in my direction and
laughed, but it was friendly and I didn't feel uncomfortable. One of
the men came and told me that the other truck would take me the rest
of the way. More lights came on and I was lead out of Apan to the
proper road to Pachuca. It was very entertaining for me and they
appeared to enjoy themselves. Quite honestly, I think they were
bored until I came along. I reached Queretaro at an early enough
hour that evening to allow me to find a good hotel near the downtown
square and walk around looking at shops. It was a clean, busy town,
with a great variety of stores and activities. If I hadn't been so
tired, I would have liked to explore it more. As it was, I had a
relatively warm room, an almost-hot shower, a TV with no pretensions
of a remote control and a good book. I was set for the evening.

Day 33 � Queretaro � Sombrerete
345 miles

It
was hazy when I left Querataro and still cold. What about all those
tales of a warm Mexico? I was on the road by 8:30 and had high
expectations of reaching Durango for the night. It's difficult to
judge just how long it will take to ride from one city to the next
by simply looking at the map. What looks like a three-hour ride may
actually take me 6 hours just because of the number of curves,
quality of pavement or the frequency of topes. Or it may only take
two hours because it's arrow-straight with no roadblocks to speak
of. So when looking at the map that morning and planning on my next
evening's destination, I hoped for Durango. There was nothing
notable on the ride from Querataro to San Luis Potosi. It was a fast
and fairly uninteresting road that led directly to the next town and
not much else. From the road, San Luis Potosi itself was disgusting:
smog hung over the valley in a thick layer and the town sprawled out
for miles, encompassing the surrounding hillsides as well as the
valley floor. I got some relief from the monotony of the landscape
while leaving San Luis Potosi, but it was to be short-lived. The
hills rose up slightly and the exposed rocks were soft and eroded
like worn teeth. No sooner had I settled into a good pace of dashing
through the curves, when they straightened out and I was left with
wide open spaces and distant mesas. For 70 kilometers the road was
straight and fast � I would make good time today.

The lack of road signs in the towns were a constant source of
confusion for me. If the town was very small then the road would go
straight though with no or very few turns. If it was a city then
there was the occasional sign to point me in the right direction.
But some of the towns were sized right between the two and would
have me taking turn after turn, looking for the road exiting out the
other side. I soon developed a system to aid my route finding
skills: follow the bus. Mexico has a national bus system much like
Greyhound in the States that would travel through almost every town
in the country. I quickly realized that the buses would take the
most direct route through each town and learned to follow them. This
worked well almost every time except once. This particular time I
was in quite a large town, hopelessly wandering around when I saw a
bus go past me. I followed it, matching every turn and lane change
for a number of blocks. I was feeling rather pleased with myself for
using this little trick until the bus took one more turn � into the
bus yard. I had been duped. I sighed and turned the other way,
conveniently finding a directional road sign not more than five
blocks later and was soon back on the main road system.

At Zacatacus I stopped to visit Frederico, the man who has the
motorcycle-friendly hotel whom we met the last time I was in town,
but he wasn't around. I left him a message and hung around the city
for a little while, but the urge to make it further that day was too
strong to resist. I pulled the bike out of Zacatacus and headed
north. This was to be the first road that I had traveled on more
than once in Mexico and it brought on an interesting feeling of d�j�
vu. It had been weeks since I had been on it and I had seen so much
since then that it felt unreal to be on it again. But no road is
ever the same twice and the weather gave the ride a much different
feel than the first time I had been there. The first time it was
sunny and warm; this time it was cold and overcast and I could see
heavy rain falling in the valley to my right. I was pleased at my
decision to come this way. This was also the fourth time during the
trip that I would cross The Tropic of Cancer and this time I
remembered to stop and take a picture.

I had forgotten just how long it took to traverse this section of
road and soon realized that I would not make it to Durango that
night. I recalled how much we had enjoyed our lunch in Sombrerete
and I decided to stay there for the night. What a great choice! The
hotel I found not only had hot water, but water pressure as well!
The bed was very comfortable and the TV came with a remote. The
remote didn't work of course, but it was a nice touch. And, unusual
for most Mexican hotels, this one had carpeting. I don't think I had
seen carpeting since I had stayed in Zacatacus. The hotel room was
quiet, too. I had found heaven and slept like the dead.

Day 34 � Sombrerete - Parral
325 miles

I
was ready to go at 7:30, but I couldn't get out of the parking lot.
I had pulled my bike up onto the curb next to a truck parked at a
45-degree angle on one side and a heavy cast iron table set on the
other side. Sometime that night, a car parked behind my bike,
blocking it in completely. After I anxiously paced around the
parking lot for half an hour, the owner came down and moved his car.
I was finally off to Durango and points north. The weather hadn't
changed at all and I had continued to put on all layers of clothing
and gear before I hit the road. Durango wasn't much further from
Sombrerete and I stopped only long enough to withdraw enough money
to get me through the rest of the trip. I was now on my way to
Parral, a town that I knew nothing about, but it looked big enough
to have a decent hotel and was well on the way home.

There is nothing between Durango and Parral. The road runs down
the center of an incredibly wide valley, verging more on the
definition of a plain, and was edged by ancient, rounded mountains.
I could see that the area had plenty of rain in recent times, as the
lake levels were very high. The evidence of the rains was also
apparent in the high clouds that continued to haunt my journey. But
they didn't open up on me and the ride was a dry one. The valley
eventually narrowed and the road started to twist and climb. I was
again amazed at the absolute nothingness in this area. I passed
through less than a handful of towns in the seven hours I was riding
and saw little in the way of human alteration to the landscape.
About half way to Parral the sun finally managed to punch its way
through the clouds and I felt the beginnings of warmth. I'm not sure
when I reached Parral. The $2.50 watch I picked up in Oaxaca might
have been wrong. I thought it was 3:30, but the clock in the hotel
said 2:30. I didn't know what lay ahead of me for hotel choices, so
I decided to stay there anyway and make a short day of it. Parral
was a nice town and not too big to walk around. The people I met
were very friendly and they helped me find an out-of-the way
Internet caf� where I caught up on my email. It was Saturday night
in Parral and I could hear a lot of activity from the plaza nearby.
There was no TV in my room, which was fine by me, and I took my book
out into the lobby to make myself comfortable on one of the couches
there. That's when I heard the rain. Not just a subtle pitter-patter
on the roof. No, this was a maelstrom. It poured and then it poured
some more. The water gushed down the gutters with force, washing off
the dusty streets of the town. I only hoped that it would blow over
by morning. I spoke with a local who knew some English and asked
about Copper Canyon to the west and the likelihood of rain there for
the next day. He shook his head: "No, rain won't be a problem. It
will be snowing." I wanted to ride through Copper Canyon, but there
was no way I was about to risk riding through snow just to do it. I
decided that I'd wait and see what weather the dawn brought and make
my plans from there. Meanwhile, the warm heavy blankets were calling
to me and the rain on the window was a comforting sound.

Day 35 � Parral � Basaseachi
280 miles

I pulled the covers back and peered out the window. From my
fourth floor window all I could see was the building across the
street and layers of fog. Apparently Copper Canyon would have to
wait for another time. It was still raining slightly when I headed
out of town and I spent 30 minutes looking for RT 24 to head
directly north. I finally gave up and headed for RT 45, figuring
that I might as well get somewhere, even if it was slightly out of
the way. About 30 minutes later I saw a sign that told me I was on
RT 24 � I'm not sure how that happened but I wasn't going to
complain about it. The fog and drizzle plagued me for the rest of
the day, lightening up occasionally to give me a sneak peek at what
I was passing through. Most of it was low rolling hills and scrub
brush. The dampness in the air chilled me, but it felt good to be on
the road and I was still dry underneath all my gear. I missed my
waterproof winter gloves but once again my heated grips came to the
rescue. After 3 hours the rain let up and I stopped for lunch in
Cuauhtemoc. I found an inviting floor heater in the corner of the
restaurant and placed my soggy gloves on the edges to dry out while
I ate my breakfast and relaxed for a bit. I was all set for the cold
and damp when I left and I wasn't terribly surprised when it started
to rain again. Fortunately it didn't last long and the roads
eventually dried out, even though the sun never made an appearance.

At a gas stop I met eight guys from the Chihuahua area riding big
touring bikes, something I hadn't seen much of on this trip. Almost
all Mexican bikes I had seen up until then were little 125cc's that
buzzed around the towns and cities delivering pizzas and parts. I
talked with the riders about the roads and asked for directions and
suggestions. One of them gave me some very good information on towns
and travel times. He suggested that I stop at Basaseachi, a town
that wasn't even listed on my map. I thanked them and continued on
my way west, wondering how far I would get before the sun started to
dip towards the horizon. I didn't get too far, as the road I was on
was curvy and kept my speeds down much more than I had anticipated.
When I saw the sign for Basaseachi I stopped and studied my map. The
next town that had been suggested didn't look that far away but the
motorcyclists at the gas station had warned of rockslides and lots
of curves. I wasn't sure if I could make it there before nightfall
and the last thing I wanted was to be on these narrow roads in the
dark. I took the pull off to Basaseachi.

There is an 800' waterfall at the end of town that drops down
into a large canyon � it was very beautiful and worth the detour and
hike to see it. The town itself consisted of perhaps three-dozen
structures, so I was surprised when the first four hotels I stopped
at were full. I was very pleased to find a room at the other end of
town for 100 pesos, complete with a TV and a wood burning stove. Oh
how I loved the stove that night! The proprietor handed me the key
to the room, a towel, a bar of soap and a (new) roll of toilet
paper. No washcloth though. I didn't see one washcloth the entire
time I was in Mexico. The TV was quite humorous, as there was only
one channel that I could find. Since I planned on reading and was
only looking for some background noise, I wasn't too concerned about
it. Only when the channels started to change randomly did my
curiosity pique. I had seen this happen once before, in northern
British Columbia, where the "one channel" was actually brought in
via satellite to the owner's house and then distributed to all TVs
in the hotel. I was at the mercy of the hotel owners. They finally
settled on an old Arnold Schwartzenegger film and I sat back to
watch. Not ten minutes later there was a bright flash and the room
went dark. An ominous rolling boom echoed in the mountains and I
could hear the rain pouring off the roof outside my door. "The
Terminator" had been terminated and I was left with the comforting
warmth of my flickering fire. It was another good night's sleep.

Day 36 � Basaseachi � Altar
352 miles

I was surprised to wake up to an actual sunrise the next morning.
The storm had passed over during the night and I was left with what
promised to be a cheerful and warm day. The roads were drying out as
the sun hit them and the clouds were high and fluffy against a blue
sky. It would be a good day. And the roads were equally as good. I
don't believe there was one straight stretch of road in the first 5�
hours of riding and I saw only five vehicles in that entire time.
The views were amazing, with visibility reaching for miles over
range after range of ridgelines. I frequently noted how blessed I
was not to have yesterday's weather on this road. This was also the
most treacherous stretch of road I had encountered and it had
nothing to do with pavement. I frequently came around a corner only
to be face to face with a sharp-horned steer, or skittish burros, or
rock slides that covered the entire lane, or combinations of the
above. There was a bank of fog that lasted for 15 miles, complete
with six burros that were munching the grass along the sides of the
road. I scared three cows which tried to outrun me for a little bit
before darting off to into the underbrush. The rockslides were
frequent and the potholes occasional, all of which made for an
interesting ride.

Eventually
the twisties stopped, and there was no question when that happened.
I went the next 60 miles without once changing directions. Miles of
wide-open ranchlands, good pavement and sunshine brought me into
Hermasillo, my planned destination for the night. However it was
still early in the day and I could see that the next stretch of road
was a toll road, which meant that it would be in relatively good
repair and fast. I would shoot for the next major town, Altar. I
left Hermosillo, paid my 55 peso toll and rolled on the throttle.
The gas mileage would suffer, but it felt good to fly. I was never
worried about speeding in Mexico � speed enforcement appeared to be
very low on the list of priorities and this toll road was no
different. I saw two police cars and they were both busy helping
drivers whose cars had mechanical problems and they had no interest
in my speeding bullet drive-by. Not to mention the numerous cars and
trucks that passed me as well; sometimes I felt like I was standing
still. I did have one scare on this road. I was flying along and a
car had just passed me. An animal transport trailer was parked on
the right hand side of the road. Just as the car in front of me
approached it a large bull came tearing out from behind the trailer
and straight for the highway. I could see that I was on an imminent
collision course with this massive creature and immediately braked
and planned for an uncomfortable outcome. That's when the bull saw
the car in front of me and decided that perhaps this wasn't the best
direction to flee in. His front hooves dug into the dirt as he slid
to a stop, just in time to avoid the lane I was in. I looked over
and saw the panicked face of the cowboy who was attempting to catch
this wild-looking creature. That was a close call.

As I neared Altar, I started making wild plans to ride all night
and get as close to the border as possible by morning. I'd done an
all-night ride before, so that wasn't a problem. But what would be a
problem was twofold: bad roads and bad headlights. I found out the
next day that the roads weren't that bad at this point, but the
KLR's lighting system leaves much to be desired and I couldn't see
the road well enough to be sure of this. I rode well beyond
nightfall before reaching Altar and once again had to hunt around
for a reasonably priced and available room. The room was
unremarkable and I had finished my book so there was little to
distract myself with. I went to bed very early with the intention of
getting up and making a mad dash for the border.

Day 37 � Altar � San Marcos
436 miles

I was on the road earlier than I had been for the entire trip and
was rewarded with a sunrise in my mirrors and a full moon setting
over the mountains in front of me. I was in the desert and spring
had arrived. There was a sense of freshness to the green bushes that
surrounded me on this last leg of my trip. The road was not
challenging and I marveled at the not-so-distant mountains that
marked the border between the United States and Mexico and thought
of the desperate souls who attempt to cross the desert and mountains
to get to the other side. Acres of purple flowers carpeted the
ground and bunches of cheerful yellow flowers sprung up along the
way. I also saw some large white flowers along the roadside and
while individually beautiful, when seen en masse,
they
reminded me of the litter I had seen throughout the rest of the
country. I would have stopped to take pictures of the flowers, but
the road was narrow with rare pullouts, and the traffic was heavy
enough to discourage stopping on the road itself.

After a few hours I reached Mexicali, a place that did not appeal
to me at all. The road construction was interminable, the smog was
disgusting and the overall feeling was not a pleasant one. I was
more than happy to get past there and continue on towards Tecate.
Once Mexicali was behind me, the road changed drastically and rose
over 1,000 meters in a very short period of time. The landscape had
become barren and rocky, with Fred Flintstone types of formations.
The road snaked along the ridge, always climbing and giving dramatic
views to the distant ridges. I stopped once to take a picture and
when I looked down at the drop off below me, I was startled to see
two rusted car hulks resting among the boulders. I had heard about
such things but was still surprised to see it.

It was a quick return to Tecate from there and another sense of
d�j� vu as I rode on the first road I had been on in Mexico over
four weeks earlier. Tecate was busy and there was a line four blocks
long to cross back over the border. I waited in line for about 5
minutes before one of the policemen standing on a nearby corner
walked over to my bike. He smiled and told me to go ahead and cut in
line. Who am I to argue with the police? I did as he suggested and I
was soon trying to hand in my Banjercito papers to the border
patrol. They had no interest in them but I knew that it was vital
that someone get these papers, as failure to turn them it would
result in a $400 charge to my credit card (part of the promise I had
made not to sell the bike) as well as the possibility of not being
allowed to bring a vehicle across the border in the future. I told
the border patrol I was going to go back across and check with the
Banjercito itself. They were very friendly and even suggested where
I could park while I walked back across the border. I parked the
bike on the US side and walked across the border back to the
Banjercito. There was no line at the Banjercito and I was helped
immediately. The woman who came to the window needed to see my bike
so I had to walk back across the border, slipping past all of those
cars yet again and greeting the US border guards with a casual wave
and explanation. I then rode my bike the 50 feet back to the
Banjercito. The same woman now verified the VIN number, took my
paperwork, made some adjustments in the computer and I was done. I
got back on my bike, cut into line one more time, had a pleasant
conversation with the border patrol (who never once even asked for
my ID) and then I was back in the United States.

The ride back to San Diego was uneventful and enjoyable. I
couldn't get over how green everything was! It didn't take long to
get to James' dad's house and even less time to repack the bike with
some of the things that I had left there while I was out of the
country. I called my Uncle to get directions to his house and was
soon on my way to San Marcos. It was comforting to know that if I
got lost at this point anyone I asked would give directions in
English. My Uncle was waiting for me with a fire in the fireplace, a
tasty meal on the table and a warm couch for the night. I showed him
my pictures and told him stories and we had a great visit. It was
weird to actually put the toilet paper in the toilet when I was done
with it. In fact, I felt almost guilty. Toilet paper aside, it was
good to be among friends and family.

Day 38 � San Marcos � Healdsburg
552 miles

My uncle asked if I could stay for a few days but being so close
to home, I wanted only to finish the trip. I thanked him for his
hospitality and slipped out of his garage as he went inside to
answer the phone. I had been invited to stay with an STN friend in
Healdsburg, an estimated 8 � 10 hours north of my Uncle's house. I
found my way through Los Angeles, surprised by the light traffic,
and was even somewhat disappointed that there was no need to
lane-split. I reached San Francisco and Oakland and aimed for
Healdsburg � today was to be a straight shot with no stops except
for gas. I crossed over the Bay Bridge, admiring the water and the
boats and the rainbow (did I mention that it was raining again?)
when I came upon a tollbooth. I knew that the Golden Gate Bridge had
a toll, but I didn't know about this bridge. I pulled up to the
booth and exclaimed in dismay that I had no cash. This was true: I
had given all my pesos to my Uncle and I had been using my debit
card for my gas purchases. The booth worker came out to take down my
license plate number only to find that my bike no longer sported
one. That's when he turned to me and said that the car behind me
offered to pay my toll and I could continue. I thanked both him and
the car behind me and was on my way. I reached Bobby's house in nine
hours, just in time for a great meal and house full of wonderful
company. Not to mention a good night's sleep on the world's longest
couch and under the world's largest blanket.

Day 39 � Healdsburg � Eugene
568 miles

It was difficult to leave the comfort and warmth of Bobby's
house, but I knew that a storm system was supposed to hit the West
Coast the next day and I wanted to get as far north as possible
before that happened. After an indulgent breakfast of Honeycomb
cereal, I set off through the Napa Valley wine country, with
beautiful roads and scenery to start my day. It went by quickly
though and I soon found myself back on the drudgery of I-5. I rode
north through a cold gray morning, wishing the sun would come out
and warm my bones. I eventually stopped for something to eat and was
surprised to find that I had already been on the road for three
hours. Shortly after "breakfast" the sun did come out, but that was
brief. Once I reached Mt Shasta and the Siskiyous, the pavement
became damp and the road soon rose up to join the clouds. I could
see where the previous week's snowfall still lay among the trees and
pretty soon I couldn't see that, as it was raining and a fine mist
covered my visor. I enjoyed following the semis as the heavy spray
they kicked up washed off my visor better than anything else. I was
hoping to spend the night with a friend in Medford, but he wasn't
home when I got there. I considered waiting around for him, but I
was anxious to put as many miles behind me as possible, so I decided
to continue north, at least over Grant's Pass and where the road
straightened out again, wherever that may be. That turned out to be
Eugene, Oregon and about eight o'clock that night I pulled into the
parking lot of the first motel I found. I cranked up the heat,
grabbed the (working) remote and watched bad TV until I fell asleep.

Day 40 � Eugene - Seattle
283 miles

The home stretch! I got up early in anticipation of cold and wet
weather only to find that it was merely cold and foggy. This was
do-able, and I packed up the bike for the quick estimated 5-hour
ride home. Now just because I don't have a speedometer cable doesn't
mean I was speeding, but I somehow managed to make it home in 4
hours. I missed all rush hour traffic in both Portland and Seattle
and pulled into my driveway around noon. After over 6,500 miles and
40 days, it was good to be home.

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